


you ruined everything

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [58]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, Mind Control, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Supportive Relationship, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 20:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: You’re not exactly being fair you know. Promised to tell Julia everything, but ‘everything’ turned out to be too overwhelming. Sometimes for both of you. So the agreement had been, you’d each take turns picking a topic. One a week. Keep chipping away until the whole shameful tale was out in full.That was what you had agreed on. And then she went and had to ask this.
Relationships: Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [58]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604665
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. always get their (wo)man

**Author's Note:**

> wow, been awhile since i wrote anything post-reveal. Anyway, this gets dark, take the tags seriously kids

“N–no! I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I think I deserve to know, don’t you?”

You’re not exactly being fair you know. Promised to tell Julia everything, but ‘everything’ turned out to be too overwhelming. Sometimes for both of you. So the agreement had been, you’d each take turns picking a topic. One a week. Keep chipping away until the whole shameful tale was out in full.

That was what you had agreed on. And then she went and had to ask this.

You step away from her, try not to fixate on how Julia follows you into her living room. “It d–d–doesn’t matter. There is no plan. N–not anymore.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. So does that mean you’re going to stop being Adrestia?”

Collapse onto the couch, try not to think about other, warmer memories the two of you could be making here instead. “I–I–I can’t _not_ do anything…”

Julia sits down beside you, ever persistent. The Rangers always get their man. “So then we come back to the original question, what _were_ you planning to do? Originally?”

You don’t meet Julia’s eyes, shift away from her on the couch. “W–why? I’m not going to d–do it anymore… it doesn’t– it doesn’t matter what I might have been planning to do.”

Julia slides closer to you on the couch, not quite touching yet, but slowly boxing you in against the armrest. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem, right? If you really are giving up on your plan – whatever it is – then prove it by telling me.”

“Y–you don’t trust me?”

“Ari…” There’s a sad weigh in Julia’s voice. “Please don’t make me say it.”

It feels like something heavy is pressing down on your chest. You shrink into the couch cushion, pulling your legs up against you. “I–I–I guess, after everything, I don’t really d–deserve your trust.”

A hand rubs your shoulder. Despite your better judgement you lean into her touch, fall back against her. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you.”

You close your eyes, focus on her arm against yours. “F–f–fine. But I w–want to stress I know it was a bad plan, okay? D–don’t… don’t be mad at me.”

Julia puts her arm around you, pressing you closer. “Take your time, just… talk to me, okay?”

“Okay.”


	2. no one can stop you this time

So, I didn’t really formulate a concrete plan beyond ‘kill everybody’ until after I escaped again. After so long, waiting for you. It hurt too much to hope that I’d ever be outside again. I didn’t even really know how many years had passed until I got out. I spent so much time out of it: sedated or high, and those moments where I wasn’t… I don’t want to talk about it.

No! I don’t want to talk about it Julia. Please. Let me just… let me just focus on this thing okay. One thing at a time? God. I’m never going to be done explaining myself am I?

Anyway, when I got out I knew I had to get back at the Farm somehow. When I was… growing up, I just took everything as a given, you know? I didn’t understand how bad it was, didn’t even understand why I wanted to run away. But then this second time around… I knew. I knew I didn’t deserve to be treated that way. And they knew that I knew and that they needed to ‘correct’ me for it.

When I first escaped, I didn’t know what I was going to do…

* * *

You bolt the hotel room door, then attach the little lock chain at the top, sliding it over. That still doesn’t seem enough so you grab the chair from the desk and jam it under the doorknob. Draw the window curtains shut, tight as best you can, sending the room into a grey gloom. It’s a symbolic gesture really. When they come for you, they’ll just break the glass.

At least the bathroom is on the far end of the room. You retreat into there, locking that door too.

You freeze, seeing yourself in the mirror. Blood coats your front, running down the button-up shirt you stole on your way out. You’re going to have to find clean clothes if you’re going to keep going.

If.

The barest layer of red fuzz coats the top of your skull like some kind of weird fungus. Sunken, bloodshot eyes staring back at you, iris a wretched, sickly green. Stubble coats your jawline, haven’t had a chance to shave since the escape. Sickly pale skin contrasting against the freckles dotting your face, the scars running along your cheek.

This is it. You’re out. This is your chance. No one can stop you in time.

Somewhere, sixteen miles back up the highway, there’s a jeep crashed into a roadside ditch. The owner slumped over the steering wheel. It turns out driving isn’t so easy when you’re trying to possess a trained soldier for two days straight. If she’s lucky someone will find her and get her help before anything else happens to her. You kind of hope she isn’t.

Start the shower running, warm water sprays across your hand. Don’t want anything to stain.

You’ll need to find something sharp. The mirror will do. There’s a satisfaction in the crunch of your fist against the polished glass, shards clattering onto the counter, into the sink, cutting little trails against your arm. You shake the glass out of your knuckles, already stinging with pain.

One shard on the counter looks promising. Gingerly you pick it up, heart pounding. Finally. _Finally_. You’ve been dreaming about this for so fucking long. It feels like the entirety of your life.

You step into the shower and sink to the floor, legs folded under you. Your shirt and pants soaking through under the spray of water. You can do this. It’s not anything you haven’t already done a hundred times, you can see the evidence on your arm as you pull back your sleeve.

Your hand shakes as you press the edge against the skin. Why are you just holding it there? Do it already. Something dark and primal seizes your throat, your heart. What the hell is the problem 0742? You won’t get a chance like this again. Just do it!

There’s a pressure in your eyes and tickling sensation in your nose and your chest hurts and you can’t. You can’t do it. Scared. Scared of what will happen after. Scared of waking up again. You grip the glass hard enough to cut your fingers and then toss it against the far side of the shower with a scream. Ball your hands into fists and slam them down hard your legs, over and over, until your met with the dull pain of re-bruised skin. When you finally stop your hand hurts like hell and you tuck it under your armpit as you pull yourself into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.

Failed again. Your entire life has been one endless progression of failures, hasn’t it? You’re utterly alone and you can’t even do the one thing that will save you.

Not sure how long you stay in the shower. Long enough for warm water to turn cold. Long enough for your skin to wrinkle and prune, as if you didn’t look unsightly enough.

No more tears.

Maybe you couldn’t finish the job today, but that doesn’t change the reality. You’re already dead. But if you can’t bring yourself to correct the unfortunate discrepancy of your body still breathing, then you need to start moving again. You aren’t going back. You won’t let that happen.

If you can’t kill yourself, then you’ll have to kill them first.

No, you’ll do better than that. You’ll find them, you’ll ruin them, take everything they are from them like they took it from you and then will you gut them open without anesthetic and you’ll leave _them_ there while the whole damn building burns around them. Soulless bastards every last one of them. And before they die screaming you’ll make sure every one of them knows exactly who’s sending them to hell.

It’s an impossible dream. but it’s better then sitting under running water waiting for another black van to cart you back.

But first you have to get up. Have to turn off the shower. You’ll need clean clothes and medical supplies, money. There’s someone in the room two doors down. It’s not hard to reach into their mind, grab the strings tight. Panicked thoughts at the edge of your awareness, you push them down, keep him under. Robotically, your victim gathers his things into a suitcase, clothes, wallet, whatever you can find. You have him stagger outside, place the suitcase by your door. Don’t care what happens to the bastard next, but you need him out of the way. You force him to talk a walk down the steps, outside and into the woods. Knocking him out requires a mere twist of the strings as you depart from his mind. A body tumbling into the brush. He won’t remember anything when he wakes up: who he is, or what he’s doing there. That’ll keep him busy.

Pinpricks of pain greet you as you return to your own body, nausea riling up your stomach. You let it ride, vomiting stomach bile over the floor. When you feel confident enough to stand again you move to the doorframe, shift the chair free, unbolt the door. Open it just wide enough to grab the suitcase with your good hand. Then it’s back with the bolts, back with the chair.

You discard your old stolen clothes on the floor, and crack open the suitcase, pulling out the fresh outfit you’ve stolen. Men’s clothes, disgusting. But it’s all you’ve got on hand. Boxers and pants, neither the right size, but at least there’s a belt to hold things up against your frame. You take one t-shirt and rip it into strips that you can tie around your chest and hold your breasts in place. Over that goes an undershirt, then a UCLA hoodie. Another strip of cloth gets wrapped around your hurt fist.

The ID in the wallet looks nothing like you, but a telepathic suggestion or two will fix that. The credit cards are useless, could be used to track you, so you toss them aside. That leaves about forty in cash. Should be enough to get you to the next town. You’d just steal a car, but you aren’t in any condition to drive.

You reach out again to scan the hotel. A dull, sleepy throb of tourists stopping over on their way to the Grand Canyon. No one stands out as a threat. But it’s time to get moving. You’ll head to the lobby and call a taxi. Next town over you’ll be able to breath a little easier. Maybe find a dealer you can raid for more cash and some opiates. Where you’ll end up exactly, you’re not sure yet. But it’ll need to be big if you’re going to hide out there. Somewhere you can learn the layout quickly, make connections, get resources. If you’re going to take down the Farm and the Directive, you’re going to need everything you can bring to bear against them.

The weight of a country ideally.

There you go.

The shape of the idea comes to you as you stagger down to the lobby, dragging one foot behind the other. You’ll need somewhere to practice, to get a feel for things, but – They controlled your strings, so you’ll take theirs. Start small, take control of a city, somewhere it’ll be easy to infiltrate. From there move up, shape a puppet to be your figurehead. Someone to open doors and get you in the right rooms so you can twist the right thoughts. Move up to the state level, from there it’s a jump to the national, but that will be the crucial step. Get access to the President, the Pentagon. Bring them to heel, and they’ll do the dirty work for you. Force feed the serpent its own tail.

And if someone catches on? If you die in the attempt? So what? They’ll be doing you a favor.


	3. it's your fault

Julia is silent for a long time. You can’t bring yourself to look at her face. Only listen to the terrifying static buzz of her mind, so close to yours and yet still indecipherable.

You keep waiting for her to move away from you, to take her arm back. “…you were seriously going to try and take over the entire country?”

“J–just the people in charge.” You feel stupid, even as you say it. “And just for a– for a little while, you know?”

Julia’s voice is worryingly calm. “Just a little while?”

“I… I didn’t want to like… rule people. I’d just get rid of the– of the Farm and then I w–would … you know.” You let out a long uneven breath. “If something hadn’t stopped me b–before then, I’d have… I would have found something.”

“…and this is… not what you want to do anymore? I have that right?”

If she’s going to have you arrested, you wish she’d just say so. “It’s n–n–not even a matter of wanting to do it or not.” You stare down at your lap, tracing patterns across your thigh. “It became impossible.”

Julia shifts, her hand, finding yours, running her fingers over yours, the spaces in-between them. “How’d that happen?”

“It’s…” A weak laugh, you don’t bother trying to stop it. “It’s all your fault, really.”

That gets a response from her, the way her body tenses under you. “_My_ fault?”

“You… you found me. Talked me into helping Argent.”

“And that made it impossible?”

You nod. “I… saw the effect I had on her, what… possessing her felt like. On her end. And I–I–I realized. It had happened before. To me. Th–th–th–that night. When I–” You can’t make yourself finish, throat tight to the point of pain. Can still remember the taste of metal against your tongue. The feeling of weightlessness. “I–I–I realized. I couldn’t– I couldn’t keep doing that to people. I w–wasn’t strong enough. I’ve always been too w–weak.”

There’s nothing you can do to ever make it up to Argent. The Regenerator is almost finished. Maybe that’ll help, but it can’t take the memory away. And she’s just one person. How many people have you left scattered liked discarded candy wrappers across the city? You can’t even begin to guess.

“Oh Ari…” Julia wraps her arm around you, pulling you tighter against her. “That’s not weakness.”

“Yes it is.” You spit back. “I–I–I’m not like you – not human. I’m supposed to be ruthless. Calculating. Goal-oriented. I’m n–n–not supposed to–to–to fall apart because a pretty lady smiles at me.”

“Well that ‘weakness’ of yours is something I’ve always admired about you, Ari.” Julia’s voice is quiet, and you can see the pain on her face reflected in the glass of the balcony door across from the both of you. “You’re an empathic person. That’s… something to cherish, not throw away.”

“You d–d–don’t understand–”

“You realized what you were doing was wrong and you stopped. All on your own. I certainly had no idea. I’d have never have put you and Argent in the same room if I had known.” Julia shakes her head, after a moment she adds, more quietly; “I don’t know if I’d have been brave enough to do the same, if I’m honest.”

Brave? What’s brave about backing down? Chickening out? She doesn’t get. Doesn’t understand. “Y–you know I was planning to k–k–k–kill you too, right?”

That shuts her up.

“When I decided th–that going back to Los Diablos was my best option. I… I knew that would mean I’d have to face you, and whomever else was still a Ranger.” You twist your fingers into the folds of her shirt. “I… made preparations for it. A suit that could keep up with you. Insulated from electricity. Even the nanovores I stole. That was to use on you. Your mods. And Chen’s.”

“You haven’t yet.”

“I c–c–couldn’t do it.” You blink the tears out of your eyes, catch your breath. “How c–c–could I? How c–c–could I _ever_ think you had betrayed me? Had turned me in? After everything we’d d–d–done? Everything you’d done for me?” You swallow back bile, overcome with self-disgust. “I–I had you. I had you in the d–dirt. And I c–c–couldn’t do it. All I could think w–was I was m–monster, trying to hurt the one person that c–cared about me and I… _fuck_.”

“Hey…” Julia’s hand rubs your arm. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” Her voice is strained, controlled. Putting on a front for you. Who knows what she’s really thinking. Is she finally starting to understand how messed up you are? How dangerous you are to her?

“Stop it.” You choke back a sob. “Stop saying things are okay when they aren’t.”

“Ari.”

“W–what!?”

“Can I share something with you?”

You take a breath, sniff the snot back up your nose. “What?”

“I didn’t just… lose my mind when we lost you and Themmy, you know. I… gave up. I spent six months back living at my mamá’s house and almost every hour of it drunk. I almost didn’t make it to the funeral service. The service for you two might not even have happened at all, if it hadn’t been for Chen, you know?”

“What?” Why would Chen…?

“I don’t know how he did it, but he even found almost every person that knew you. Not Sidestep, you.” Julia shifts her free arm to rub at her nose. “And I almost ruined the whole thing. Lost it on stage, and then punched out a reporter on camera. If Chen and Mamá hadn’t pushed me to start cleaning up my act, get back to work, I don’t know that I’d be here now. I did a lot of stupid stuff, and I don’t think I’ll ever back able to take it back, you know?”

“I d–don’t–”

“And I’m still not… a hundred percent yet, you know? I still have… nightmares, watching you fall, while I can’t do anything. I thought living through Hood’s death was bad, but at least I had a goal to carry me through.”

“Hollow Ground…?”

She nods. “I got so fixated on her. It… blinded me to everything. And even when I got back, I only focused on it more. I thought… if I couldn’t avenge yours and Themmy’s deaths, I could at least get back at her. And when I found you again, and you said you’d been kidnapped?” There’s a bitter laugh, one she stifles with a hand over her mouth. “I thought, ‘oh, there _was_ a connection.’ So I poured myself into hunting down Hollow Ground even more. And… even now, I’m kicking myself for not doing something sooner, figuring things out sooner, before it ever got this bad.”

You grit your teeth, torn between hurting for Julia and frustration at the comparison. “It–it–it’s not the same thing. You had– you had…”

Julia turns her head, looking down at you with a weak smile. “I had help. Yeah. And you didn’t before. But… you do now, okay? We’ll figure this out. Come up with a new plan. Something better that doesn’t involve… mind control, or you dying.”

“…you’re n–not allowed to die either.”

“Deal.”

You wipe the tears from your eyes, rest your head against her shoulder. “I… guess I should say it? Like… officially?”

That gets you a mystified look. “What are you talking about?”

You drop down into your chest voice, “D–damn you, Charge, you’ve foiled my plans.”

Surprise is replaced with a tired expression. “Is that… really appropriate?”

You frown up at her. “Let me g–get a little fun out of this whole nightmare.”

“All right.” Julia shakes her head, smiling in spite of herself. Her hand finds your face, cupping your cheek. “Your days of villainy are over, Adrestia.”

“It’s all y–y–your fault, Charge. You ruined everything.” You mirror the gesture back at her, your hand cupping her face. “Thank you.”


End file.
